


I think I knew I loved you, beautiful.

by batsaboutbats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: F/M, FemJay, Fluff, Identity Porn, M/M, Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, the trouble with magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsaboutbats/pseuds/batsaboutbats
Summary: Bruce finds a beautiful woman in one of their safe houses and it's clear she needs help. Funny how she ends up healing the deepest of scars in him instead.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	I think I knew I loved you, beautiful.

  
  


Good looking women weren't uncommon in their line of work, in fact, most were drop dead gorgeous. It went with the territory of people who were in peak physical health and super powered to boot (most of the time). Bruce had worked with a literal goddess, and still didn't bat an eyelash. Selina was probably the closest thing he had to-- well, not love, not anymore. Not since the failed wedding. She was stunning, svelte and curved in the way that spoke to him under the night sky when he gave chase. The scar she'd left him with however had made it harder to get up and follow these days.

Which was fine.

He had only one woman in his life and that was Gotham. She was a jealous woman and more often than not reminded him of his duty in spilled blood should his attention stray too long from her. Coming up out of the dark spiral after Selina's exit, he'd finally looked around and evaluated himself. He had no right to be loved and he knew it.

Which is why he was gradually growing more uncomfortable with the current crisis at hand.

The lovely woman sitting on the examination table is scowling so deeply that it ages her at least ten years. He'd found her unconscious in the middle of one of their safe houses, bundled in a pair of oversized pajama pants and wrapped in a fleece blanket. Looking at her now Bruce would never have guessed her younger than early thirties, but while carrying her unconscious form to the batmobile she'd looked barely old enough to be able to buy the cigarettes stuffed in the waistband of her pants. Relaxed, unguarded and blessedly out cold her face was slack and fresh, with youthful rouge slashed over her smooth cheekbones. The blanket and his cape had shielded her dignity as no matter how he hard he scanned he could not find her missing shirt.

He'd still seen. The quick glimpse he'd caught when he lifted the blanket to make sure she wasn't injured had revealed the loveliest breasts he'd ever seen. The bountiful swells tipped in pink had danced through his mind no matter how hard he tried to clinically compartmentalize and set down to the task of getting her to the cave for further observation and medical attention. The entire drive back his eyes had tilted off the road, but always snapped front and center before even her elbow could be seen in his peripheral.

Bruce had never been so rattled by attraction, not even by Selina.

The woman wiped her unruly dark curls back from her forehead, grumbling under her breath. He hadn't restrained her, against his logic and better judgment. She'd checked out fine, no broken bones, cuts, internal bleeding, or toxins had shown up in the tests he'd run during her lay in. While he waited for her to wake, he'd started in on some of his reports, typing quietly enough so he could hear her breathing change as she drifted into the land of the living.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce turned in his chair, back stiff and imposing. She cast him a dirty look, the line between her browns furrowing ever so deeply.

“Like I lost a fight,” She snapped, looking down at herself. To Bruce's utter astonishment, she continued, “Jesus Christ, did you call Zatanna yet?”

His eyes narrowed.

“How do you know that name?”

“What?” The woman looked startled, the wrinkles vanishing as her brows lifted, her beautiful cupid's bow lips parting. The small pink flash of her tongue worrying over her lower lip made him stare.

Bruce stood, stalking forward, looming over the pretty woman. She didn't even have the decency to look nervous, merely met his gaze behind the cowl and jutted her chin.

“Who are you? What were you doing in that apartment?”

This close, he could see the green flecks among the blue of her irises. Her pupils flared, a challenge rising in them. There wasn't an ounce of fear in her replaced by stubborn pride.

“I'm--” She struggled for a moment, lowering her gaze to his chest, pinning her gaze over the bat emblem. She licked her lips before looking back up at him. “I don't remember.” It's absolutely a lie and they both know it. She pouts unaware of what she looks like sitting before him.

He lets it slide, because heaven help him, he's forever cursed to pick up strays with dark hair and pretty blue eyes.

* * *

  
  


They settle her upstairs in a guest room and she behaves. The furthest she goes from her quarters is the library, where she plucks leather bound classics out of the shelves and returns to her room to read them over the next few days. Bruce finds no match for her prints in his system, her dna results are a dead end and there are no missing person reports that coincide.

He's not sure why, but he's relieved.

For nearly a month it's just the two of them in the manor, Alfred's presence skirting the edges as he always does. With Damian working with the Titans for the summer, the house had been empty until now. Her presence baffles him in that it feels quite natural for her to be there. Like she's come home after a long absence. Conversations are few between them, but her wit and surprising depth are stunning.

She's as enigmatic as a sphinx, and beautiful in a way that strikes him to the core.

More often then not he found himself at the dining table each night before patrol, Alfred slowly drawing the girl's place setting closer to the head of the table. Until finally, she's sitting next to his right, demurely pushing lightly fried oysters around her plate. She's eaten everything but the rubbery little buggers, and he can't hide the tug of his lips at her soft utterance.

Alfred's oysters aren't rubbery, but he doesn't need to be the world's greatest detective to know she just doesn't like this particular shellfish.

What happens next seems so natural that he barely registers what he's doing until he's popped his fork of stolen sea delicacies into his mouth while she stares at him aghast.

“Excuse you!” She blurts out, parrying to stab the last one before he can even think to challenge her for it.

“You aren't full?” He jests.

“No!” She stuffs the last oyster into her mouth, blanching in midchew.

“Would you like to be?”

He cringes as she chokes, her fork clattering against china. She waves him off when he tries to stand and assist her, coughing raggedly as she recovers.

“I'm sorry, I mean we can have Alfred bring something else out. If you're still hungry.”

“Jesus, Bruce.” She breathes, tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She's smiling, amused rather than offended, despite the awkwardness of his statement. He really has no idea where it came from, this isn't like him at all. It's inappropriate and ridiculous and they say no more of it.

* * *

Summer is beginning to fade into fall, the once lush grass of the manor turning from spring green to a sickly chartreuse. The humid summer has all but baked the greenery and garden to a crisp, no matter how hard Alfred tries to keep up with it. Soon enough, Damian will be coming home to prepare for the new school year.

She still hasn't told him her name, but she comes whenever he calls for her. She greets him after patrol, brings him plates of Alfred's sandwiches to partake while he works on his reports and backlog cases. Most times she'll watch him quietly, her alert, intelligent eyes watching him toil with something akin to worry, and maybe even a little exasperation. She sits on the desk, beside his keyboard, the warmth of her near enough that he can feel it radiate against the back of his arm as he types. It's something he's going to get used to if she continues.

“Uhm.” She interrupts him tonight, before he has the chance to sit down at the computer, rounding about him. Bruce had tried to no avail to get her to let Alfred take her shopping, but she'd insisted on just donning Dick's old clothing. They fit her, but in the most ill manner possible. Everything was either too tight or baggy in all the wrong places. Tonight she was wrapped in an old robe, the soft terrycloth plush against her blushed skin. It's not Dick's initials monogrammed over the breast. It's his.

“Yes?” He watches her worry her lower lip for a moment.

She seems to make her mind up, planting herself directly between him and the desk. Her hands, smaller than his own, but strong and deft like Diana's go to her waist, hesitating for only a moment before she pulls the belt loose from it's loop. He watches the gown split open, a cascade of her rosy flesh offering him a private viewing. Just like that, the robe falls in it's entirety, baring all of her at once. She's built like the finest of string instruments and his fingers ache to play her; pluck along her nerves until she sings.

The desire surprises him, but moreso her expression. Even Selina's eyes hadn't reflected him so honestly. He swallows dryly, as it suddenly becomes apparent to him that he'd thought he'd known love. He had. Love is faceted and has many faces. Selina was lust and danger. Diana had been friendship and admiration. Lois had been a wonderful wit and delightful conversationalist. Talia had been seduction and sensuality with the bite of betrayal. The countless socialites had been cared about in their own ways even if none of them had ever been deeper than skinship.

This love is beyond any of that.

This love is a Venus, and for some reason he can't comprehend she wants him as though he deserves it. He knows he doesn't, he never did with any of them. But he wants her and who is he to deny her? They come together slowly, his arms cradling the lower bow of her waist, her own naturally coming up to wrap around his neck.

It would have been easy to just set her down over the desk, have his way and his fill of her. He stops her from it, shaking his head at her uncertainty.

“Not here.” He murmurs, hands steady before gripping the backs of her thighs to lift her up, letting her legs cross around his waist naturally. She seems ready to argue, until he kisses her, tasting the scathing complaint just on the tip of her tongue. Her clever hand strokes between them as he carries her to the staircase, before he grunts, surprised.

She licks her upper lip when he draws back to stare at her, both of them pleased. He makes a mental note to change the suit design again, because no one should know how to take it off, much less well enough to get his erection in hand with barely his notice. Her body shifts as he takes the first step up the staircase, and it's no longer her hand wrapped around his hardened flesh.

She's shaking when they reach the manor proper, begging him. They don't make it past  _ that  _ desk, sweeping the stacks of contracts and board reports to the floor. There is slake in the slide of their bodies in unison, but no bone deep satisfaction by the end of it. She's far from done, and another staircase later, they finally reach his bed. It's there that they nest, taking and giving what the other has to offer with teeth and tongue.

She's stained red with his kisses, and trembling in the aftershocks much later, aglow in the afternoon sun peering through the curtains. Her fingers tremble as they stroke through the silver shot hair at his temples, pressing his head to pillow against her soft breasts. It's there that he slips into slumber, cradling one another. He rests better than he has in years, no nightmares following him in her arms.

* * *

He wakes alone, and no matter how he searches, he never finds her. He does find Jason though, in the library, placing a stack of books back on the shelf in their proper order. The boy turns, scowling at him, standoffish and defensive posturing all over again. Just like when he'd first come back.

Deep down, he knew, he supposes. Those smart, sassy lips and secretive gaze that always looked as though it were in on some grand joke. But nobody is laughing, not now.

“Jason...” He begins, unsure as he steps over the threshold.

“What?” Jason doesn't look away, but his fingers clench subtly on the spine of a first edition Jane Austen. He recognizes that stance, always present right before the boy bolts over a rooftop.

“I just wanted to let you know I think you are beautiful,” He begins. “--and I believe we should talk about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt "“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.” for my friend's federally mandated writing challenge :3c Might expand on it, might not, the spell isn't quite done with Jason yet from what I gather!


End file.
